


she's a lady

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blackrom, F/M, One-AMbound, bulgeblocking, does this even count as mature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-05 02:36:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bayale and Reelas meet for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	she's a lady

It's not the first time you've been to a party, but it is the first time you've actively participated in the proceedings. Parties make you nervous, and for the most part, you usually stick by Kellen. She talks to people, discusses things you don't actually understand well like business and social topics. You growl at people she gives nasty looks at and spark any time someone looks like they want to start something with her. You also glare pointedly when someone comments on _you_ , but that part isn't precisely a part of your job. That's just you being defensive. But you can't really be blamed for that. You weren't precisely raised for social purposes. Technically speaking, you weren't raised to be a pet, either, but that's another matter. In any case, when Kellen finally waves you off and tells you to go do something somewhere else, you are suitably confused. In fact, you have no idea what to do with yourself. You are at a loss.

So, naturally, you float over to the nearest corner and stand there looking stupid. Arms crossed, expression dead-set, nursing a drink you'd snatched off the table on the way over. The taste is offputting and it feels uncomfortably like medicine going down your throat, but you tolerate it, because while you aren't used to soporific beverages, literally everyone else in the room is sipping one, and you don't want to look out of place. As if you don't already. Your posing is kind of awkward, because while you aren't used to just standing around places (especially not your own living space, if you can call it that), you do have the good sense to tell that floating about or even darting around would be inappropriate. Not good for business. You've been given essentially free reign, and if you made a bad impression, you feel like you could be missing a pint of your blood by evening. This is something you prefer not to wake up to, when you can avoid it.

"Hey, dipshit, you know your lip's bleeding, right?"

You look up, startled. You were decidedly not aware that your lip was bleeding. And while you would normally at least inwardly appreciate the gesture of pointing this out, your forming smile immediately falls flat into a scowl the minute you see the face of the person who mentioned it. She's wearing a smug look, and that's the first thing you note. The second thing you note is her general blood caste. Some shade of brown. You instinctively try to remember how many browns Kellen has in the basement, before remembering that this is a social occasion, and you are, in fact, bleeding. You grimace and leave a yellow smear on the back of your hand as you attempt to play off the almost-smile by wiping your mouth. It doesn't go over well, but you're kind of hoping she doesn't notice. You then bare fang at her, narrowing your blank eyes so that you're almost managing a highblood-worthy sneer. You _are_ higher than her, after all, even if it's only a little, and even if it's only by blood.

'Yeah, I meant it like that,' you sign back. To your vague surprise, she actually rolls her eyes. You're used to people not having any idea what you're on about when you get to signing things, so this reaction catches you just a little off-guard.

"Yeah, sure you did," she replies, smirking at you.

Your scowl deepens, growing a bit indignant. She's getting a little under your skin at this point, which is a bit quicker than your temper really should allow, but you know why this is. This isn't the first time you've ever seen her, after all. It's just the first time you've ever directly talked. You'd seen her tagging along with Nidaea a few times during her visits, and at one point you distinctly remember getting ticked off at her (though you don't quite remember why, exactly), and attempting to talk Kellen into basementing her.

Not that there's anything in the basement, of course (you remind yourself, just in case she reads minds). 

But while you vaguely remember her, you are not completely sure she remembers you. This is completely understandable, and certainly not a first. No one ever remembers the pet, generally, unless they have some kind of specific reason to. Besides that, you are generally not much to note. You hairstyle is standard, your horns are generic, and you're just small enough not to register as threatening while simultaneously too big to make an impression in the opposite category, either. Sure, your eyes are funny, but pretty much every psionic and their lusus has _something_ funny with their oculars. It's nothing special. Remarkably, though, she does seem to find you familiar, which she elaborates on between sips of what you would guess is her second drink, based on her breath.

"So, ain't you that kid Kel drags around?" she asks. You reply with a shrug, because something about her tone and her funny south-west accent makes you feel irrationally rude, though it isn't quite the same irrational rudeness you feel towards That Greenblood Who You Have Pointedly Not Bothered To Learn The Name Of. No, that sort of disdain is a defensive, vaguely territorial sort of rude. The kind of rude that spells 'I was here first, back off' in big, ochre letters, made neon courtesy of your own electrical power. _This_ flavour of discord feels more innate, certainly more malicious (despite the fact that you can't think of any situation offhand where she's given you anything more than a dash of discourtesy for your trouble), and oddly not quite unpleasant. You don't want her out of your territory so much as under your boot, and you can't for the life of you find a good reason why. Instead, you sip the last of your shitty booze down and float the cup right into the nearest trash-can like it's second nature (honestly, it kind of is; you can't be arsed to walk five metres if you don't have to).

"What do you mean 'you don't know'? Don't you know you you hang around with?" she asks. You ignore her in favour of sizing her up. That's one advantage to not having pupils: no one knows where you're looking, and you can subtly give someone a once-over without tipping them off. You are not particularly impressed. She doesn't look like much. Copper blood, average build. You don't spy a whole lot of muscle, nor do you spot the signs of an accomplished psionic. She seems like your run-of-the-mill lowblood. Not a threat, unless she decided to spear you with that horn of hers. You wonder what her strifekind is. Not that you think she would pick a fight with you, or anything. She seems to be here for the conversation, though that smirk she was wearing earlier seems to have been traded out for a slightly irritable look. You think you might be ticking her off, and it occurs to you to think that a few drinks loosen anyone's temper, and you aren't being precisely pleasant. She finally gives up on that question, and rolls her eyes before continuing on to her next.

"Alright. Do you have a name, at least?" she says, offering you another challenging smirk, "Mine's Bayale. Bayale Cerber,"

You turn on your heel and walk off, right through a door and down the hall. You give a mental congratulations. You did manage to put up with another troll for all of two questions, and that's probably a new record for you. Or something. You don't really keep track of interactions that don't involve someone getting a nice electric discharge right in the nerve cluster. Unfortunately for you, you aren't quite done putting up with her, because unlike most partygoers, she appears to have no qualms about following you into the personally inhabited areas of the hive. You stop, and she stands pointedly at your side, arms crossed, faced flushed in indignation and mild anger. Yes, you've pissed her off. But then again, the feeling is kind of mutual. You may have to check your standards if you're waxing straight black this quick.

"Hey! I asked you a question, ya' jerk! Do you have some kind of problem?" she growls.

You decide you _do_ , in fact, have some kind of problem, and it's a combination of cheap liquor and Bayale Cerber. You solve this problem the same way you solve most problems. You give a faint, scratchy-sounding growl and swipe claw at her. You'd meant to charge the swipe, maybe disorient her with a dose of electricity before stalking off, but at some point between your think-pan and your arm, that particular command was lost, and you wind up with a barking display of aggressive with little actual bite. You don't even break skin, given that Kellen hasn't let you grow out proper claws since she learned that your furniture-clawing habits weren't an exaggeration. You both wear very stupid expressions. She looks bewildered. You probably look confused. Bewilderment turns to anger fairly quickly, though, and you immediately begin charging up some actual electricity by the time you see _her_ baring fangs.

Everything moves very fast at that point. You taste wall before you're even sure who moved first. She snatches your arms up at the wrists, where the insulating fabric of your shirt keeps her just out of your personal range. You hiss as she wrenches it behind you, dragging your shoulder just a bit further than the joint ought to allow. She's stronger than she'd looked, or maybe you aren't quite as good with physical altercations as you'd personally thought. Either way, she's got you pinned, and you aren't sure whether you regret that first swipe or not. 

"Ain't that a bit forward, Sparky? Or was it Reelas? Nid mentioned you once," she twists your arm a bit further, digging her claws in to elicit another hiss. "Either way, that's no way to talk to a lady."

She's no lady, you can tell that much already. Not in the popularised civil-manner, anyway. Females are aggressive, you know this, but she's pushing you. She stays at a steady level of pressure against your arm, enough to ache but not enough to properly _hurt_ , not like you know she easily could (and by context, should). It comes across as gauging your limits. It also leaves her wide open for a sweep that could take out an ankle, but you aren't sure you feel like going quite that far. You're not aiming to _maim_ her, after all. You're just... Actually, You don't really know what you're up to. But maiming doesn't suit the menu for whatever reason, so you stay still, attempting to figure just what it is she's playing at, here.

"Done? Good boy," she says, then spins you around to face her, pinning one wrist above your head while the other is trapped uncomfortably behind your back by the wall. You give her a dirty look, and all she gives you is a smile.

"Really, are you going to be _that_ blatant? Kinda tactless; what are you, a wiggler?"

You give her that same broken growl as before, and she leans in, all smiles, and asks: "Cat got your tongue?"

That gets you. You thrash a bit, getting a couple of kicks at her shins before she drives a knee right between your thighs as a threat. That isn't precisely fair. You both know this. You by your angry hisses and her by her giving exactly no damns. She apparently does not have a qualm with playing dirty. If you can throw suckerpunches, then she can subdue you with a knee in the crotch. Fair play and all that. God, you wish you hated semantics as much as you hate her right now. It is at this point that it occurs to you that your actions qualify as shameless black flirting, and while you hadn't quite meant it that way at first, you are slowly but surely changing your mind. You certainly aren't correcting her, and it's only halfway because you cant use your hands. But hey, at least she seems to be reciprocating.

"That's it, isn't it? Hm. Can you scream, then?" she inquires, punctuating with a sharp bite to your collar. Hard enough to bruise, but her teeth aren't quite sharp enough to break skin with that pressure.

Yeah, she's definitely reprociating. Your breath stops sharp, and you shudder, because being bitten that hard shouldn't have the effect that it does. Your knees are officially jelly. You are suddenly hyperaware of the fact that you have no fucking clue what you're doing. She is apparently aware of this, too, because you can just feel her cackling right into your injured flesh.

"What, are you really getting that worked up over a stupid bite?" She looks up, as if something has dawned on her, and she moves, pushing your shoulders down and letting your knees buckle under you as you sink to the floor, her perched over your waist. Your arms aren't decommissioned, but you aren't sure what to do with them anymore, either. You settle for putting them both against her waist and giving her the lead for the moment. It's a wound to your pride, but she's right, and you really don't know what you're doing.

"Let's teach you some tact," she says, dipping down again. She nips at your jaw before you get impatient and irritable again, moving a free hand over her shoulder while your mouth moves against hers. It's sloppy as all hell, fangs clicking uncomfortably against each other. You're both probably bleeding by the time you pull back for air, but that's more your fault than hers. You're the one with a full set of sharp teeth and no tact whatsoever. You're also the one throwing sparks like a toaster in a bathtub, but go figure, there. It's nothing strong enough to be dangerous, just enough to make you look ridiculous. She gives you another malicious grin, but stops, suddenly, as you both hear a voice from the nearest doorway.

"Bay, are you back there? Sun's coming up, we gotta go home," you hear, and Bayale doesn't gives it a moment's consideration. She promptly stands, digging her knees against your thighs in a manner that's a bit rougher than absolutely necessary, then dusts herself off.

"Coming~!" she calls back, then offers you a wink. "See you around, Reelas," she says, then darts off down the hall, leaving you utterly bewildered, confused, and more flustered than you'd like. You stare like an idiot for a moment before you finally get to your feet, shaky as hell, and process what the hell just happened. You are almost certain you just got bulgeblocked. You are completely certain that you are going to be sore as hell in the evening. You don't entirely mind.

Blackrom is a funny thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Companion piece to OneAM-bound
> 
> http://oneamcomics.tumblr.com/


End file.
